


The Other Side of the Knife

by TheGreatCatsby



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, gangster au, more tags to be added as the story goes on - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7444318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatCatsby/pseuds/TheGreatCatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sugawara never wanted to be an underground doctor. Oikawa never imagined being an information broker. Somehow, they've both ended up in these positions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pitfalls of Being a Good Samaritan

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Target Practice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7363222) by [TheGreatCatsby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatCatsby/pseuds/TheGreatCatsby). 



> These are basically the stories that Suga and Oikawa alluded to in my other fic, Target Practice. I just really like the universe!

“One day, Koushi, when you're older, you will be able to take over the family business.” 

If someone had asked Sugawara Koushi the question, “what's something that someone said to you that will stick in your head forever?” this would have been the answer. At the time he was six and didn't understand what his father meant. His father was a doctor. Suga didn't even know whether he liked the color blue or purple more, or whether breakfast was truly superior to lunch. 

Suga didn't see his father in action, but he admired the idea of a doctor. Doctors solved problems and helped other people. Doctors were smart. Being a doctor was like constantly solving very important puzzles. Suga liked puzzles. So he ended up gravitating towards Biology and studying a pre-med course in university. He was incredibly smart, so he went through school at an accelerated pace. It didn't bother him that all of the other students were older than him. 

What bothered him was not getting a good enough grade, or not getting his father's approval. Suga felt like how well he did was extremely important. Life or death. He wasn't sure if he felt that way naturally, or if his father was making him feel that way. They saw each other less and less, but a single phone call could still have Suga choosing hours of isolated studying instead of making friends. He had the single-minded goal of becoming a well-respected doctor in Tokyo. 

Three-fourths into a residency at one of Tokyo's busiest hospitals, that changed. 

* 

“Sugawara, there's a patient in emergency that's begging to see you.” 

Suga frowned. He was sometimes rotated to the emergency department, but he was by no means a regular there. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” 

Suga made his way from the cardiac floor, where he'd been placed under the supervision of one of the hospital's top surgeons, to the emergency department. 

The emergency department always seemed to be in a state of controlled chaos, but today it was almost empty. Quiet. Suga wondered why he would be called down when there were plenty of nurses standing around the central area. He approached one of them and asked which patient had requested him. 

“Bay 2,” the nurse said. 

Suga made his way to Bay 2. 

The curtains were drawn and he reached out, grasping the material. He hesitated, wondering what he would find once he pulled the curtains open. No one had ever requested him before. 

He yanked the curtains to the side and met the gaze of the young man sitting in the hospital bed. His eyes were brown. 

“I got shot,” he said. 

Suga's gaze shifted from the man's face to his abdomen, which had been hastily covered in dressings to stem the blood flow. But they were all blood-soaked. 

Gunshot wounds weren't standard for this hospital or for any hospital in Japan, as far as Suga was aware. Something this severe didn't require one specific doctor. It required surgery. Suga froze at the end of the bed, taking in the expanse of blood-soaked gauze. 

“I need to call for a nurse,” he murmured. 

“No!” 

The man's voice rooted Suga to the spot. His face was kind, now, but something in his voice made Suga want to listen to him. 

“Please close the curtain,” he said, quieter. 

Suga did as he was told. It wouldn't do good to disobey a man who had been shot in the stomach and was somehow still awake and coherent and giving orders. 

“I can't have this on the hospital's record,” the man said as soon as Suga turned back around. “I didn't want to come to the hospital but some idiot dropped me off here because he panicked.” 

“You need to be in a hospital,” Suga pointed out, but his voice was strangely low even to his own ears. Almost like he was afraid. 

The man laughed, softly. “You're right. Well, that would be right for most people. But I can't have an investigation launched into this. So I need it out and I need to get going.” 

“I think you need surgery,” Suga said. “You need a scan and a surgery and possibly a blood transfusion and the bullet needs to be taken to the police to figure out who shot you,” his voice rose in pitch as he went on, “and you need a rehabilitation plan for your wound and check-ups-” 

“Doctor Sugawara.” It was strange, how this man could make Suga shut up with just two words. “I'm in a gang.” 

Suga's eyes widened. 

“If there is an investigation, everyone involved will be in danger,” the man continued. “This needs to be handled discreetly.” 

Suga's throat felt tight. “Why did you call me?” 

“Ah, well,” the man smiled, “you see, I called my usual doctor and he gave me your name. Said you worked here and wouldn't mind dealing with this case. He said you'd be able to deal with it discreetly, seeing as you're next in line for the practice.” 

“What?” Suga breathed. His entire body went cold. Next in line? He could deal with it? Discreetly? 

The man shifted on the bed. “If you won't, I'll leave.” 

“You can't leave!” Suga cried. “You're bleeding to death!” 

“Then fix me,” the man said. “But don't put me under. I want to make sure this doesn't get around to anyone else.” 

“You want me to do this by myself? Without proper imaging references and a surgical team?” Suga balled his hands into fists. “I'm only a resident!” 

“Someone has faith in you,” the man said. “Are you going to help me or not?” 

Suga couldn't let this man walk out of the emergency room like this. He looked around for a chart, anything to give him patient information. There was nothing. This man had apparently been serious about the discreet thing. 

He put on a pair of gloves, walked around to the side of the bed, and removed the gauze. There was a hole in the man's stomach, blood pouring from the wound. 

“There's no exit wound,” the man said. “I checked.” 

Suga refrained from making a distressed noise. He turned and walked out of the bay. The nurses looked at him with curiosity as he headed for the supply area. The man probably wouldn't want anything that could record anything about him, so he skipped the heart rate moniter and IV's and wracked his brain for everything that he could possibly need for what he was about to do. He found a scalpel and painkillers and dissolvable stitches, since he assumed the man wouldn't submit to a check-up, and bandages. A lot of bandages. 

He reappeared in the room and the man gave a sigh of relief as Suga set out his materials on the bed. “I thought you'd left.” 

“I wouldn't do that,” Suga said. He prepared a syringe and the pain medicine. The man's eyes widened. “This is a local anaesthetic. It won't knock you out but it'll make the area numb. I hope. This will hurt.” He drove the needle into the wound. The man stifled a groan. Suga pushed down the strange feeling of satisfaction that he felt causing pain to this man who was causing him so much trouble. 

He tossed the syringe aside. “Do you have a name, Gangster-san?” 

“Daichi,” the man said after a moment. 

Suga pressed a finger into the wound. “Do you feel that?” 

“It feels like a pressure,” Daichi said. 

“Okay.” Suga grabbed the scalpel. “I hope this hasn't severed any arteries or major organs because that is definitely not a one person job.” 

“You'd make it work,” Daichi said. 

“I don't understand why you have so much faith in me,” Suga said. “We haven't met.” He cut into Daichi's skin. This was the sort of thing that was going to turn out a lot messier than it should have. Ordinarily, he'd do a scan to find the location of the bullet, but now he was going in blind, which meant cutting Daichi open a lot more than he should have and poking around his insides to make sure he got everything. 

Daichi was surprisingly quiet for someone who was slowly bleeding out and had a scalpel cutting into him. Suga's fingers were also pretty deep inside his abdomen, but he didn't seem to mind. The blood washed across his skin didn't completely cover the other scars there. Being a gang member must be hard. 

“It is,” Daichi said, and Suga realized he'd been saying that out loud. “Being a leader is tougher.” 

“You're a leader?” Suga peered closer into Daichi's insides, wishing he'd brought a magnifying glass or something. He couldn't leave now to get it. He'd have to feel around. “I think your liver was hit.” 

“Was it?” Daichi said mildly. “That's inconvenient.” 

“Not as bad as if your intestines had been perforated,” Suga said. “That's the kind of thing that you can't really walk away from right away. You're lucky.” His fingers closed around something small and hard and he pulled his hand out. “Got it.” 

“I'll take that.” Daichi held out his hand. 

Suga hesitated. Giving a patient evidence went against every hospital policy he knew. Then again, this whole procedure went against everything he knew. 

He dropped the bullet into Daichi's open palm and began the process of closing him up. 

“I think you'll heal,” he said after a moment. “Livers are resilient. Come ba—go see your doctor if you experience any strange symptoms. You don't want to have an internal bleed and, well, bleed to death. Or get an infection.” 

“I'll do that,” Daichi said. 

Suga finished stitching and bandaging the wound, and Daichi sat up. They looked at each other for a moment. 

“Thank you,” Daichi said, finally. He was covered in blood. So was Suga. 

“You're not going to...change?” Suga shifted on his feet. 

“No. Don't worry. I have a ride.” Daichi smiled, but there was something sad in it. “And Doctor?” 

“What?” 

“I'm sorry.” 

Suga opened his mouth to ask why, but the words didn't come out. By the time he found his voice again, Daichi had gone, leaving Suga alone with a bloody mess and a lot of questions. 

He realized, peeling off his gloves and looking down at himself, that people were going to have questions. He couldn't really answer them, either. He only had a given name, Daichi. He didn't even know which gang Daichi was part of. Daichi could have been lying. Maybe there was a way to explain this. Maybe he could say that he'd been under duress. His supervisor would probably tell him that he should have just let Daichi walk away. 

The curtain behind him flew open and he spun around to see his supervisor standing there, taking in the empty bed and Suga's bloodstained clothes and Suga himself, empty-handed. 

Suga got fired on the spot. 

* 

Back in his empty apartment, Suga felt sick. Lonely. Worthless. He'd never be able to work anywhere again. And Daichi knew. He'd known and he'd still done in Suga's career and had left with nothing more than a weak apology. 

Suga wanted to find him. He wasn't sure what he would do, but he'd do something. 

He wanted to cry but the tears wouldn't come. He sat in his kitchen, head resting on the counter. Not hungry, not tired. Not anything. 

Shocked, maybe. 

Then the phone rang. 

He lifted his head off the table, glaring at his cell phone. There was no good reason for anyone to call him right now. He didn't want to hear from his coworkers trying to figure out why he'd gotten fired. He didn't want to hash over the details of his leaving the hospital with the human resources department. He just wanted to sit here with his head on the counter and think about nothing. 

It was his father. He picked up. 

“Dad,” he started, but his father spoke over him. 

“Koushi, have you ever considered opening a private practice?” 

Suga's brain stumbled over itself. “I—what? What are you—I just got fired, dad, what do you mean...what?” 

“I know,” Sugawara's father said. “I sent him.” 

Suga gripped the phone tight. “Sent who.” He already knew. 

By the time his father was finished talking, Suga had moved to the floor. He was in a strange place, beyond numb. Shaking. His career in ruins, his childhood expectations shattered, all because some idiot decided to drop off a gang member at his hospital while he was on call. His father (not the respectable doctor Suga thought he'd been this whole time) waited in silence. Suga gritted his teeth. 

“Well,” he said into the phone,” I guess I don't have a choice, do I?” 

He didn't need an answer. 

A week later, Suga's father retired from his private practice.


	2. Good Intel

“We're all good boys from Miyagi. How did we fall into this disgraceful lifestyle?” 

Oikawa Tooru leaned against the back wall of an alleyway while Iwaizumi Hajime, his childhood best friend, knelt down next to a clearly dead body. Clearly dead, because the head was blown off. 

“Of course I try to have a nice dinner with a friend and this shit happens,” Iwaizumi said. 

“That's your friend?” Oikawa tilted his head as if he was trying to get a better look at the face. Which no longer existed. 

“Well,” Iwaizumi shrugged, “a rival I hoped to make an ally. Kyoutani.” 

Oikawa hummed. “I'm guessing you want me to find out who would shoot a guy like this in the middle of your dinner date?” 

Iwaizumi sighed. 

“Don't worry Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said, striding over and clapping Iwaizumi on the shoulder. Iwaizumi flinched. “I've got you!” 

“For a price,” Iwaizumi said. “You're lucky I'm your friend, or I wouldn't hire you.” 

“How mean!” Oikawa pressed his hand over his chest. “Why would you say such a thing?” 

“You know why, dumbass,” Iwaizumi said. 

Oikawa took a step back. “What are you planning on doing with the body, Iwa-chan?” 

Iwaizumi bristled. “I have someone else for that.” 

“Betrayal!” Oikawa cleared his throat. “Well, it's not like I enjoy that kind of work, anyway. I'm glad I don't have to clean up your messes.” 

“It's not my mess,” Iwaizumi growled. 

“Whatever you say, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa waved his hand, and he turned and made his way back onto the street. 

The truth was, he already knew who killed Kyoutani. Or he had his suspicions. A little digging would confirm it, and then he had to decide what to do with that information. Iwaizumi would normally retaliate, but since Kyoutani wasn't officially associated with his gang and their meeting had been a lowkey affair, telling him wouldn't necessarily result in someone getting killed. 

He picked up his phone as he walked towards the shopping district and dialed a number. 

The other person picked up on the first ring. 

“Ennoshita-san!” Oikawa knew from the sigh on the other end of the phone that it was a bad time. He grinned wider. 

“What is it, Oikawa?” Ennoshita always sounded tired, so Oikawa didn't take it personally. 

“I saw something interesting today and thought you might want to make Karasuno aware of it just in case it comes up,” Oikawa said. 

“Why don't you tell Sawamura, then?” 

“Because I wanted to tell you,” Oikawa said. “You're next in line and all that. You seem to be taking a lot of things into your own hands. You know, this guy that Aoba Josai was scouting ended up shot in the head. Kyoutani-something. You heard of him?” 

“What do you want?” 

Oikawa paused, even though he knew what he wanted. First, he wanted to let Ennoshita squirm. After he felt satisfied that Ennoshita was flustered (though it was almost impossible to tell over the phone), he said, “Two things. I want to know why you shot him. Then I want to know how badly you want to avoid a war between Karasuno and Aoba Josai.” 

“Kyoutani wasn't a memember of Aoba Josai,” Ennoshita said, sounding frustratingly calm still. “So I don't think a war would be necessary or advisable.” A pause. “But if he had joined, he would have been a threat. He's a violent killer. He would have made Aoba Josai too strong.” 

“You're trying to limit how strong another group gets?” That was interesting. Most gangs would go for other gang's leaders, but Karasuno's second-in-command was coming at it from the outside. 

“Isn't that what anyone would do?” Ennoshita asked. 

“You know,” Oikawa said, threading through groups of people. The streets were crowded, making it difficult to walk quickly. “Aoba Josai is waiting on information about who killed Kyoutani.” 

“They're paying you to tell them,” Ennoshita said. “I'm not paying you. And even if I did, what would you tell them?” 

“I could shift the blame onto someone who's never paid me before,” Oikawa said. “Let them deal with it how they will.” 

“Hmm. We did budget for this.” Ennoshita sighed. “I guess I'll have to pay you to keep it quiet then.” 

“A wise choice,” Oikawa said. “Thank you, Ennoshita-kun.” 

Ennoshita cleared his throat. “Uh, good luck. I don't want to hear about this ever again.” 

“You won't,” Oikawa said. 

What he didn't anticipate, as he hung up, was that even he didn't know everything. 

* 

Iwaizumi decided to meet Oikawa in a sushi restaurant instead of a back alley this time. He looked tired, distressed. He'd probably spent the past few days trying to find a replacement for Kyoutani. Not that Aoba Josai lacked in members, but Oikawa knew they were always looking for good people to join. Strong people. 

Back when Iwaizumi had first become involved in Aoba Josai, he'd offered Oikawa a place with him. “These organizations live for people like you.” 

It seemed like a good deal at the time until Oikawa remembered that being in one of those gangs meant being in one for life. It felt like a bit of waste to commit to one group for his whole life, so he said no. It turned out to be a really good decision. 

Iwaizumi now looked older than Oikawa even though they were the same age. He'd gotten a tattoo of Aoba Josai's symbol, a crown, between his shoulder blades when he'd first joined, and Oikawa wondered how many more tattoos were inked into his skin as a result of becoming the leader. There was no reason for Oikawa to know. Iwaizumi would never tell Oikawa things he didn't have a reason to tell him. Not anymore. 

Now he held a cup of tea in his hands and frowned at Oikawa. “Who is it?” 

“Futakuchi Kenji,” Oikawa said, sliding over a photo he'd gotten from Terushima of Johzenji, who hated Futakuchi for some reason. 

“Dateko?” Iwaizumi's eyebrows drew together as he studied the photo. “Why would they--” 

“Out of my pay grade,” Oikawa said. “Maybe Futakuchi knew him. Maybe they tried to get him first.” 

“Huh.” Iwaizumi sighed. “We can't have Dateko pulling shit like this. It's not their place.” 

“They don't rank high on your People Who Can Mess With Us list?” 

Iwaizumi gave him a dirty look. The sushi arrived. Oikawa folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. 

“So, Iwa-chan, what are you gonna do about it?” 

Iwaizumi picked up one of the sushi rolls. “Like I'd tell you, Shittykawa. Hurry up and eat.” 

* 

Two hours after Oikawa left Iwaizumi, his phone rang. He picked it up. “He-” 

“What did you do?” Ennoshita sounded livid. 

Oikawa actually sat down on his couch. “What?” 

“What did you do to Futakuchi?” 

Oikawa's mouth dropped open. “You know him?” 

“You didn't know?” 

“No!” 

“You're lucky he's alive!” 

“He's alive? That's good. That means-” 

“I want my money back,” Ennoshita said. 

“Can't,” Oikawa said. “You never told me who was off limits.” 

“Bastard.” Ennoshita hung up. Oikawa sat there for a moment, wondering if he should feel guilty. 

He reserved his feelings for a select and small group of people. So he decided not to. 

* 

What Oikawa didn't know was that as soon as they left the sushi restaurant, Iwaizumi made his way straight to Dateko's base and found Futakuchi outside smoking. So he took out his gun before Futakuchi could ask who he was and shot him in the leg. 

“For Kyoutani,” he said. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Futakuchi cried. 

Iwaizumi didn't answer him, just turned and walked away. It was lucky he did, because otherwise Oikawa's reputation would have come crashing down around him. 

It was also lucky that Moniwa decided to take Futakuchi to get his wound fixed and not to go after Iwaizumi. Moniwa, the leader of Dateko, didn't want to cause more conflict than necessary. 

“I'm shot,” Futakuchi pointed out. “That seems more than necessary conflict.” 

“We'll talk about this later,” Moniwa told him. 

Iwaizumi went back to Aoba Josai completely unaware that he had shot the wrong man. It was lucky that he hadn't intended to kill Futakuchi. 

The only one who was unlucky was Oikawa. (And possibly Futakuchi, having been shot.) Because Futakuchi was seething, and he wasn't as calm as his leader.


	3. Good Bedside Manner

Being told by someone that he would have to start an underground medical practice for Tokyo's criminals and actually doing it were two vastly different things. His father helped him, set him up with all the contacts he could, but this didn't change the fact that Sugawara had not seen his career going in this direction. He missed the hospital. He missed feeling like he had a separate place for work and his personal life. He missed working with other people and being able to hand off problems when they were out of his specialty. Now, everything had to be his specialty. He spent his nights studying because he had no idea what his next patient would come in with. 

He hated Daichi. 

And he hated his father, a little bit, for sending Daichi. 

A few months into his business, he got a call from an unknown number. The voice on the other side sounded familiar when it said, “Doctor, I need your help with a patient. Are you available now?” 

Suga grit his teeth, set on edge. “You bastard.” 

“So you remember me.” A sigh. “Look, I'm not the one injured and you don't have a grudge against the person who is, so I'm asking you to please take them despite your feelings against me. They can pay.” 

“Fine,” Suga said. 

“Fine.” Daichi hung up. 

Ten minutes later Suga was answering the door. 

Two men, one of them Daichi, held up a third in the middle, his leg wrapped in a make-shift bandage. The wounded man looked irate, his face set in a scowl as the other two followed Suga into the back room. 

As they set the wounded man on the bed and Suga prepared his supplies, the other man who wasn't Daichi said, “I'm sorry to bother you like this. We actually haven't had to use your services before. But Sawamura-san recommended you.” 

Sawamura. So that was Daichi's family name. 

“Did he?” Suga said, flicking the needle of a syringe. 

“I'm Moniwa, leader of the Dateko group. The patient is Futakuchi. He was shot in the leg by—well, you probably don't want to be involved in those politics.” 

“I am, aren't I?” Suga asked, setting the syringe on a tray next to an assortment of surgical supplies. 

“I guess you are,” Moniwa conceeded, “but I heard you were new to the business.” 

“That's right,” Suga said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I'm not actually a fully certified doctor.” 

“Ahh, he pretty much is,” Sawamura cut in. “He was just--” 

“I never got to finish my residency,” Suga said, turning around with the tray in hand. He walked over to the side of the bed and put on a pair of rubber gloves. The other two watched. Futakuchi gripped the sides of the bed. 

“I swear to god,” he growled, “I'm gonna kill that bastard.” 

“It is really strange,” Moniwa said, “considering you haven't done anything lately except be a pain in the ass. Maybe that mouth of yours finally got you in trouble.” 

Futakuchi gave Moniwa an incredulous look, opened his mouth to reply, and instead yelped when Suga began unwrapping the shirt serving as his bandage. 

“It was a misunderstanding,” Sawamura said. “I'm sure that's what happened.” 

“A misunderstanding with a gun!” Futakuchi cried, now ignoring Suga entirely. Which was fine. It made Suga's job easier. He injected a local anaesthetic into the wound and Futakuchi only flinched slighlty before continuing, “that shithead could've killed me over a 'misunderstanding,' Moniwa. We don't have those kind of misunderstandings. Not where I come from.” 

“You come from the same place I do,” Moniwa pointed out. Next to him, Sawamura was staring at the wound and Suga digging around in it, looking a bit pale. Suga held back a smirk—of course, this was pretty much the procedure he'd performed on Sawamura, even if it was in a different place. 

“You didn't recognize the person,” Moniwa said. 

“I would if I saw him again,” Futakuchi said, “and I bet it was one of those fuckers from another gang. If you'd just let me look-” 

“Out of the question.” 

“Moniwa--” 

“No.” 

“I can look into it,” Sawamura said faintly, “as long as you don't go shooting anyone.” 

Suga found the bullet and placed it on the tray, then began the process of cleaning the wound and stitching it up. 

“There's that guy,” Futakuchi said, tapping his fingers against the side of the bed, no longer as tense. “That information guy. I could get him to do it.” 

“That costs money,” Moniwa said, “and so does this visit, so--” 

“Oh, so finding out who shot me is out of the budget?” Futakuchi folded his arms over his chest. “I see how it is.” 

“I can do it for free.” Sawamura had finally torn his gaze from Futakuchi's leg to Moniwa's face. 

“Why do you care so much, Sawamura-san?” Suga asked. Sawamura stared at him as if he'd forgotten that Suga was there. 

Futakuchi turned to give Sawamura a strange look. “Yeah, actually. I know you know Moniwa but I mean, you shouldn't give this much of a shit about us, frankly.” 

“Because I know Moniwa,” Sawamura said. “You're not asking why the doctor gives a crap about you. He doesn't know any of us.” 

“I don't care about any of you,” Suga said, perhaps more harshly than he meant to. “I'm just doing my job.” 

He finished the stitches. Futakuchi eyed his leg and Moniwa smiled. “Well, it's a good job,” he said. “Right, Futakuchi-kun?” 

“Thanks,” Futakuchi mumbled. He sat up and swayed a bit. “We're going?” 

Moniwa took a bundled wad of cash from somewhere in his jacket and handed it to Suga, who placed it on the counter. “I hope I don't have to see you again,” he said, smiling a bit sheepishly. “Sorry if that's weird to say.” 

“It's not!” Suga smiled back. Moniwa allowed Futakuchi to loop his arm around Moniwa's shoulders and supported him as they made their way out the door. 

Sawamura didn't follow. Suga gave him a pointed look. 

“I wanted to talk to you,” Sawamura said. 

“You don't think your friend needs help?” Suga asked. 

“Moniwa's stronger than he looks,” Sawamura said. He stepped a bit to the side, in front of the door. Suga bristled. “The only reason I brought him here is because I wanted to see you.” 

“That's great,” Suga said, one of his hands closing around a scalpel, “but I don't know what we could possibly have to talk about. I helped you, and as a result lost my job and my career, and now I have to work out of my apartment serving dangerous clients. It's not something I envisioned for myself, if I'm being honest.” 

“I thought you knew,” Sawamura said. His voice had become soft. 

Suga gripped his scalpel harder. “I didn't. I wanted to be a good doctor in a good hospital helping a lot of people. To have that ripped from me—to know that I was lied to—the thing is, I wanted to help you. I chose to do what you asked. But you just left me behind and you never said anything. You got what you came for and that was it.” 

“I'm sorry,” Sawamura murmured, ducking his head. “Truly, Sugawara-san. I wasn't thinking clearly. But you seem to have adjusted. You were more confident with Futakuchi's surgery than you were with mine.” He met Suga's eyes. “I just can't believe that someone like you wouldn't care about your patients?” 

Suga's mouth dropped open, caught off-guard. “Why wouldn't you believe that?” 

“Putting aside the fact that plenty of doctors actually do care about their patients,” Sawamura said, “you helped me even though it was at great risk to your own job. You had to know that you'd be out of work if you let me go. That it was possibly the end of your career.” 

Suga felt his face heating up. “Get away from the door,” he said. “I want to leave. I want you to leave.” 

“Sorry.” Sawamura stepped aside. “Habit. I'm used to having to keep people in a room.” 

“Of course you are,” Suga muttered, dropping his scalpel on the counter and pushing past him. He ended up in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of water and not offering any to Sawamura because Sawamura didn't deserve the water. Not yet. 

Of course Sawamura followed him. Suga set his cup down on the counter harder than necessary, but his hands were shaking. Of course he'd helped Sawamura. He couldn't just let the man bleed. He probably would have died. Or he would have found another underground doctor. Now that Suga knew who he was, he couldn't be sure. He wasn't sure if knowing would have changed anything. 

Sawamura watched him, completely calm. Like he didn't mind that Suga was pissed off at him and that he was invading on Suga's territory. 

“I know you want me to go,” Sawamura said, and his words were warm. Kind. “I just don't want things to be left unresolved between us.” 

“Why can't we just keep a professional relationship?” Suga asked. “Doctor-patient? That way we don't have to see each other unless you get injured.” 

Sawamura laughed. “True, but your emotions would still be getting in the way.” 

“They are not,” Suga snapped. “You just don't like the idea of someone not liking you. Is that how it is with the gangs? Do they all have to like you so that you're guaranteed that none of them hurt you?” 

“Of course,” Sawamura said, unmoved. “It's better if no one gets hurt. Peace is good for everyone.” 

“Then why have gangs?” 

“It's complicated.” 

“Of course.” Suga narrowed his eyes. “Don't think I haven't been reading up on it. Don't think I won't read up on you.” 

“I care about you,” Sawamura blurted out. 

Suga was so shocked that he nearly choked. His hand actually went to his throat and he managed to gasp, “what?” 

Now Sawamura looked a bit red in the face. “Not in a strange way. You just...what you did in the hospital was good. You're a good person, and you have a dangerous job now and I was the one who brought you into this business, sort of. I don't want you to...I don't know. Get in with the wrong people.” 

Suga laughed. “I'm already in with the wrong people.” 

“I mean, there are a lot of people you shouldn't trust.” 

“Why should I trust you?” Suga asked. 

Sawamura shrugged. “Because I'm the type that tries to keep the peace. Not the kind to instigate violence. That's all I can offer you, really. That, and my friendship to continue to prove to you that I'm worth trusting if you'll take it. I can help you.” 

“You're saying you don't do bad things?” Suga frowned. 

Sawamura shifted on his feet. “I'm not saying that. But I try to do the right things. I didn't expect to be involved in this kind of thing, either.” 

Suga sighed. Anger was exhausting, and Sawamura looked like he was reconsidering his decision to stay with Suga alone. Plus, Suga had the feeling that it would make his life easier if he agreed. Let Sawamura go through the trouble of proving himself later. Suga still had to clean up after Futakuchi's surgery even though he felt tired enough to fall asleep. 

“Fine,” he said. “I'll accept your offer of friendship.” 

Sawamura gave him a wide smile. “Thank you, Sugawara-san, for the second chance.” 

“Fine, fine,” Suga waved him off. “Now please go. I have to clean up.” 

Sawamura nodded. He started to walk away, but then turned. “Thank you again.” 

“For what?” Suga asked. 

“For saving my life.” He disappeared into the hallway, leaving Suga standing at the counter, staring after him. 

The sound of a door closing jolted him into action. He rushed into the other room, started scrubbing away at Futakuchi's blood and sanitizing the area. Sawamura's words rang in his ears. He'd saved a life. He'd saved Sawamura's life. He'd never felt like he'd saved a life before. It was just a job. 

Sawamura was more a patient than a friend, and this was just a job.


End file.
